These Rather Difficult Times
by ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: America struggles with a great loss during the African-American Civil Rights Movement, and tries to decide what to do next.


The dim glow of the TV filled America's apartment with eerie light, casting long shadows over the walls and floor. Sitting too close to the TV was supposed to turn your brain to mush (so said thousands of mothers across his land) but he still leaned forward from his seat on the couch and stared at the flickering screen. He didn't want to watch. He wanted to switch off the television, crawl into his bed and drag the sheets over his head. Maybe it would all be a bad dream. He _wanted_ it be a bad dream, but he knew it wasn't, and so he cracked open another beer and downed half in large gulps to numb the hollow ache growing in his chest. How many had that been now? Four, five? He couldn't bring himself to keep track. It seemed like the most unimportant thing in the world at that instant.

He might have sat there all night, watching the news repeating the same horrible story over and over ('for those of you just tuning it,') feeling the the riots blossoming across his body like the hot drop of blood that swells from a pinprick, when a sudden knock at the door pulled him out of his daze.

"Al? You in there? It's Bobby!"

America let out a deep breath. He couldn't ever remember being so glad to hear the young senator's voice.

"Door's open!" he called, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded to his own ears.

"That's not like you, Al," Kennedy said from the doorway. "You're usually so paranoid about locking your door."

America gave a noncommittal shrug as the other man navigated his way past the empty beer bottles and Chinese takeout cartons littering the floor before joining the country on the couch.

"I'd ask if you'd heard the news," America said, slurring slightly as he gestured towards the television with the half empty beer bottle, "but seeing as you just made a speech about it two hours ago, I'd guess you already know."

"I heard that Dr. King was shot before I got on the plane to come over here. I didn't hear he was dead until I actually arrived in Indianapolis, though," the senator said heavily, staring down at his clasped hands. "I'm having a hard time believing it. Guess it hasn't really sunk in yet. But how about you, Al? You holding up alright?"

America leaned back and didn't answer, letting his eyes sink into the TV screen again, achingly bright in the dark room.

"Have you been sitting here in the dark this whole time, Al? You'll ruin your eyes."

"Then I'll get a stronger prescription for my glasses, no big deal," America muttered, but Kennedy had already climbed off the couch and flicked the light switch on the wall. America winced as the florescent light flooded the room and held a hand over his eyes.

"I said it was fine, Bobby."

"And I say it's not, Al. It's not healthy for you to sit in the dark like that. I'm not just talking about it being bad for your eyes, either."

"Since when do you care about shit like that so much?"

"Since I started running for president, probably. The most important part of the job is looking after my country, isn't it?"

"Doesn't mean you have to act like my goddamn mom."

"I'm just worried about you, Al. And I'm serious, are you okay?"

America leaned his head back and stared up at the spidery cracks in the ceiling. His voice was strained when he finally started to speak.

"I'm just sick of all this, you know? Good people like him, getting cut down. It's just not fucking fair, and don't tell me life's not fair, because I don't want to hear that shitty line again. I just..." His hand came up over his eyes again, and this time it wasn't to shield them from the light. "I didn't want to lose him so soon. I-I still needed him. This whole civil rights thing is tearing me in half and...and I don't know what to do. But I felt like I knew what was right, when I'd talk to him."

"I think you know what's right, Al. Even without Dr. King to tell you."

"I don't know. Maybe. It's just so hard, you know? I've got the feelings of all my people inside me, and it's like they're playing tug of war with me. Getting pulled this way and that...I don't know which way I'm supposed to go."

"You _do_ know, Alfred...no, _America_. You do know. You've always promised freedom to your people, all your people, and yet many of them _aren't_ free. You already know what you need to do. Like you said, it's hard. I don't doubt that for a second. But doing the right thing usually isn't easy."

"Damn, you make me feel like an asshole when you say stuff like that. I'm not trying to look for an easy way out, y'know."

"I didn't say you were."

They fell into silence, and America took another long swig of his beer.

"I watched when he told us all about his dream. I wasn't there in Washington with him, but I was watching anyway. On this same TV, too. I was so sure, then. I felt like I knew what to do, and it was to follow him, wherever he was going to lead. It was..." The nation's head fell forward limply, like a puppet who's strings had been cut. "It was like how I felt with John. Like he was some...some kind of beacon I could follow. Someone I could believe in." His fist suddenly slammed down on the coffee table in front of him, knocking over a few empty beer bottles. "Why the fuck do all the people I really need to have go and get themselves killed?! I can't do this without them, why'd they have to...have to leave me, why..."

Kennedy leaned over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing tightly, as though he needed to physically hold the country together. They sat like that for a long time; Kennedy was rigid and tense, while America felt as boneless and wobbly as a jellyfish.

He broke away at last, shifting his shoulders to make the other man let go before pulling up the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his face.

"Sorry about that, Bobby. I'm kind of a mess right now."

"Don't worry about it," Kennedy said quietly. "You aren't the only one who misses them. Far from it, in fact."

"...Do you still miss John? Like, a lot? I keep thinking it'll get easier, but it doesn't. I still miss him. I miss him so much."

"I know, Al. I know."

The silence dropped down on them again, but something strange and awkward had entered the space between them.

"Did you love my brother?" Kennedy asked abruptly, making America choke on a sip of beer.

"Did-did I what?" he sputtered, wiping the beer off his chin with the back of his hand.

"You heard me the first time."

"W-well...I mean, yeah. Of course. I was hard to not love John. Everyone loved him."

"Not everyone," Kennedy said, almost too softly to hear. But America did hear, and his eyes went dark.

"He doesn't count. That murdering sonuvabitch doesn't count."

"He wasn't the only one to hate John, Al."

"They don't count either. Decent people loved John. Good Americans loved John. Everyone worth knowing loved him."

"Fine, but that wasn't what I was asking. I asked if you loved him, and you know I didn't mean like that."

"I-I don't know what you're trying to-"

"You asked me once if my brother was ever with a man. All those women, were there any men?"

"Jesus Christ, it was a joke! I was just kidding, I...fuck, stop giving me that look!"

"...Did you love my brother? Just answer me. I'd like to know."

Kennedy's gaze suddenly seemed to pierce right through him, and America gave a weak moan, dragging his hands through his hair. His cheeks were starting to ache from the sudden rush of blood.

"....Goddammit, Bobby. Goddammit. Does...does anyone else know?"

"I doubt it. I'm sure John didn't know. I wouldn't have guessed either, if you hadn't asked me about...that."

"Well, shit. I knew it was bad idea," America said with a forced laugh. "Gave me away, huh? Okay, fine. Yeah, I l..loved him. But like I said, it was hard to _not_ love John. I mean, he was...brilliant. I don't mean like smart, I mean...bright, like the sun. Everything seemed to light up around him. And I...I felt like I could be so much more, when he was with me. He made me believe in impossible things. Hell, he made me believe I could go to the moon!"

"And you still can. That dream didn't die with John."

"Yeah, but...I wanted to go there with him. And I...I wanted to accomplish Dr. King's dream while _he_ was still alive too. I wanted them both to get to see their dreams turn real."

"All the more reason you have to carry on without them, Al. You've got to make their dreams real because they aren't here to work towards those goals anymore."

"I know, I know. It's just so hard to do it alone."

"You aren't alone. You've got me, don't you?"

America looked up at the young presidential candidate and smiled for the first time all evening.

"Yeah. I've got you."

"Then say a prayer for Dr. King and his family, get some sleep and we can start working again tomorrow to make those dreams come true," Kennedy said, pushing himself up off the couch.

"Be careful, Bobby," America suddenly blurted out.

"I will be, Al," Kennedy replied, turning towards the door.

"I'm serious. I don't want you to end up like John and Dr. King. Please...I've just got a bad feeling. Be careful. Be really careful. I can't lose you too."

"You won't," the man insisted, but he was walking away to the door and still didn't look at America when he spoke. "I'll be careful. Don't worry, Al. Good night."

"Good night," America echoed as the door closed behind the senator. He stared at the closed door, and tried to ignore the nagging feeling of dread in his stomach.

"Be safe, Bobby."

Historical Notes:

Martin Luther King Jr., one of the major leaders in the African-American Civil Rights Movement, was assassinated on April 4, 1968. Robert F. Kennedy, who was then a senator and presidential candidate, broke the news to a group of African-Americas in Indianapolis. The Chief of Police advised him to not speak, as it would be dangerous for him if a riot broke out, but he went ahead anyway. In the brief speech he delivered, which is regarded as one of the greatest speeches in American history, he said, "...we have to make an effort in the United States, we have to make an effort to understand, to go beyond these rather difficult times." He also spoke about the death of his brother, John F. Kennedy, and how he, like MLK, was killed by a white man. There were riots in almost every major city in the US, but things were calm that night in Indianapolis. It's generally thought that RFK's speech helped to achieve that.

JFK was president from 1961 to 1963. He was assassinated on November 22, 1963. His death shook the country, and was said to have caused a great national 'loss of innocence.' Aside from being known as the president who said, 'We choose to go to the moon,' he's also known for his many, many, many, many affairs. Apparently he once said that he got terrible migraines if he didn't have sex every day. Quite the legacy he left behind...regardless of his flaws, he is still fondly remembered as a great president.

Only two months after MLK was killed, on June 5, RFK was also assassinated. RFK was another big supporter of the civil rights movement. I heard once that he was seriously considering asking Dr. King to be his running mate. How very different things might have been, if those men had lived.


End file.
